In the End
by jlbassmaster
Summary: Rory is convinced Sam wants to punish him for his wrongs, and nothing can convince him otherwise.


**In the End**

_Author's Notes: This is a very dark one shot, something I haven't really tried before aside for a rather morbid one shot in my Final Fantasy fandom. Anyway, this may be triggering to anyone with severe depression, a history of self-harm, suicide, or any other extreme mental condition or have no desire to read about self-harm, suicide, attempted suicide, cutting, death, or character death. _

"I'm scared, Sam," Rory said softly as he sat at the desk in his bedroom at Brittany's house. It was Saturday afternoon and his host family was all out – Brittany with Santana, and Mr. and Mrs. Pierce shopping with some friends from out of town. He had the house to himself all day long. That was perfect.

"Why are you scared Rory?" Sam asked just as softly. He was sitting atop the desk, his legs hanging off the side, drawing his fingers along the polished wood as he wore a look of disinterest on his face.

Rory didn't look up. He simply mumbled. "Because, I'm not sure about this."

The look on Sam's face changed to something more focused. "Why not? We talked about this. We've talked about this for a long time. So why are you scared _now_?" He sounded irritated, almost angry.

Rory shrugged. "I just… this is so… am I doing the right thing?" He finally looked up at Sam, searching for an answer, but finding nothing in the green eyes of his friend.

"You know it is. Just like all the other times we talked about it. You know it's the right thing to do, because you _earned_ this. You _deserve_ it. You know I'm right," Sam insisted with a huff. "I don't know why you're so scared, I mean, I'm right here. I'll make sure it's all okay."

"I know. I'm sorry, Sam," Rory replied. "You're right. I _do_ deserve this. I did earn it. Every bit of it. It's the only answer to everything, just like you said."

Sam smiled. "That's better. Now, to make sure you don't chicken out, let's go over this _one last time_." He gave the boy a firm nod, raising an eyebrow approvingly. "I have questions for you, and I want you to answer every single one of them, honestly. When we're done, then you're gonna do it, okay?"

Rory swallowed. "Okay. Okay, I'm ready."

"Tell me about Seamus. Your brother. Tell me about him, at home. How did you shame him?" Sam asked pointedly.

The Irish lad began to quiver slightly as he recalled the memories. "He… I… He was having a sleepover. His friends were over, and they wanted to use my computer to look at some funny videos online."

"But what did they find instead?"

"They found… pictures. Of naked guys. And a video clip. Of two men," Rory admitted, his entire body blushing. Sam then urged him to go on, to tell him what happened next. "His friends made fun of him. They said he had a fey brother, and that he would probably turn out that way too. They said he probably was molested by me. They… they all called their moms to go home. They all left Seamus by himself, and he hadn't done anything wrong."

Sam reached down and caressed the boy's head. "Yes, he did no nothing wrong. But you did, didn't you? You should have hidden that stuff better. You should have erased it, to be safe. It's your fault Seamus doesn't have any friends now. _You_ hurt him. _You_ humiliated him in front of his peers. And now look where he is. You know what that means, right?"

Rory stared down at his feet for a moment, contemplating it. Yes, he knew what it meant. Sighing, he looked up at Sam, who was holding something out to him. It was the size of an ink pen, except under the cap wasn't ink, but a blade. It was an x-acto knife. Freshly sharpened.

"Go on. Take it. Don't be a pussy," Sam urged, motioning for him to take the pen. Rory reached out and took it in his trembling grasp. "That's a boy. You know what you should do, right? Seamus had three friends over that night. I think one per friend seems fair."

"Yes, Sam," Rory muttered. He held out his arm so that he could reach his bicep. He glared down at his arm, and then back at the knife. It moved closer and closer to his flesh, pressed against it until it changed color. His flesh changed color. No longer a pale peach, but a bright red. Bright red droplets. He winced as the drops multiplied, but forced himself to keep going. One. Two. Three.

"Good man," Sam said. "Next question, right? Right. What about your mom and dad? You hurt them too, didn't you? Tell me how. Don't waste time, either. We don't have a lot of that, you know."

Rory's voice trembled some more, and clear drops splashed on his jeans. Tears. "One of Seamus' friends told his mom and dad what he saw."

"And what happened?"

"It got around the church. Everyone at the church found out. They found out my mom and dad had a fey son who looked at dirty pictures of men. They found out my mom and dad had an abomination and they couldn't allow that," the boy choked out.

"That's not all though, is it?" Sam asked, almost sarcastically. He continued tracing his fingers along the wood in random patterns as if he was already getting bored.

"They were asked to leave the church. And not come back, unless I was… cured. They were reprimanded and humiliated in front of all of their friends, because of me. They didn't deserve that. It's not fair! They didn't ask for that," the boy went on.

"So I guess you know what comes next, huh? Too many church members… so how about your mom, dad, preacher, and the pope for good measure. One for each. Other arm," Sam instructed, almost cheerfully. Almost as if he was happy about it.

"Yes, Sam," Rory replied softly. As he had done before, he stuck out his arm and pressed until the bright red drops appeared and multiplied, staining his skin further. He let out a quiet whimper by the fourth mark.

"No whining. Be a man. Men don't whine," Sam scolded.

"Sorry, Sam."

"You should be, but you can make it up to me later when you finish up. I think we both remember pretty easily your little escapade with Brittany. You liar. You told her you were a leprechaun just so she'd fuck you. That's just pathetic. Brittany's the loosest girl in school. If you had to lie to her to get her in bed, well," Sam scoffed and didn't finish. "Three wishes, plus one wish for Santana. That's four. Get going."

By now, Rory's eyes were so blurry from tears he could barely see. He changed back to his other arm and held it firm against the desk, drawing four more lines of punishment, each one earning a slight wince.

"Aaaaand what about Sugar? Poor, sweet Sugar. She wanted a date for her party. She had a good one lined up, too. Artie was a good choice for her. Why do you think I helped him sing his song to her? Because he was better for her. Instead, you lied to not only her, but to everyone!" Sam declared, annoyed. "You lied to get a feel! To get a kiss! Again you had to lie, and again you lost out! You got to be her date, but she didn't even kiss you! You didn't get a feel or anything! I got more out of Quinn back in the day."

By now Rory was sobbing outright. No longer were his eyes simply watered over, the occasional tear hitting his clothes. No, now he was sobbing like a baby, the tears gushing out like waterfalls. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry."

Sam ignored him. "I won't make you mark for that. But you're gonna mark for the next one. You know what that is, don't you?"

"No, please, Sam, don't make me think about it. It's too awful," Rory pleaded, barely able to make out Sam's image any longer.

"Say it!" Sam shouted, startling the boy and causing him to drop the knife on the floor. "Pick it up and say it, goddammit!"

Rory bent over and grasped the pen, setting it on the desktop next to his hand. "I… I told you… oh God, I told you… that…"

"Say it!"

"I told you I loved you!" Rory burst out, choking on his sobs. "I told you I loved you! Because you were my friend and I thought I could tell you!"

Sam shook his head. "I'm straight, Rory. What ever made you think it was okay to tell me that? You're so selfish. You make me feel uncomfortable by telling me you like to look at me. Telling me you have feelings for me. Now how am I supposed to feel? You think it feels good to be made fun of for a guy having a crush on me? Fuck no."

"I'm sorry…" the boy sobbed harder. His arms were streaked all over with bright red, some of it having rubbed off onto his shirt and jeans.

"Sorry doesn't fix that. Sorry doesn't fix anything. Sorry doesn't give your brother his friends back, or your parents a ticket back in the church. Sorry doesn't make Brittany feel any less stupid, sorry doesn't make Sugar feel any better after being duped into going on a date with you. Sorry doesn't give me back my reputation!" Sam declared loudly. "You ruin everything, Rory."

"I know… I'm so sorry…" the teen whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Blah, blah, blah. You're pathetic Rory. You have no friends. Every day you get shoved against lockers, pushed around, made fun of. Nobody likes you. You should have just gone back to Ireland after you got here, just like Santana said."

"Please… Stop, Sam…" he pleaded.

"No. You're pathetic. You can't get the sluttiest girl in school to fuck you, you have to lie to get friends, and then they get hurt when you tell the truth. Pathetic. And then you tell a straight guy you love him. What's that about? Just trying to hurt more and more people?" Sam interrogated. He put his hands on Rory's shoulders and shook him. "Why are you trying to hurt more people, Rory!"

Rory choked back another sob. "I don't mean to hurt people. But I do, don't I? They'd all be so much better…"

"Without you," Sam finished for him. "They'd all be better without you. You know that's the truth."

Rory shook his head and snapped out of his hallucination. It wasn't the first time he did this. In fact, most of the time when he started doing this, he saw Sam sitting in front of him, egging him on. Reminding him of every flaw, every mistake. Reminding him how pathetic he was.

Instead of Sam sitting on his desk, there was only the x-acto knife. Just like a friend. The only real friend he had. 'Sam' was right about everything. That's what he called his knife in his head. That's why the hallucination came about. He pictured Sam and soon that knife _became_ Sam, punishing him for everything. 'Sam' may be imaginary, but his punishments never were.

It was silent in the room. The shades were all drawn, so it was still dark, just like he had seen in his imagination. Everything was the same, except there was no Sam sitting on the desk. But there was the knife. It was still there. It was _always_ there. Just like a real friend should be.

Rory closed his tearful eyes and heard Sam's voice once again.

"What are you waiting for? We talked about this, hello? What are you waiting for?" Sam urged on angrily. Rory continued to sob, harder and harder. He was crying so hard, he kept missing the blade, reaching around frantically for it. All that raced through his head was despair. His ruining of his family's lives. His lies to people he wanted to be his friends. His failures. The abuse he suffered at the hands of bullies. The anger and hurt he caused people he cared about. His betrayal to Sam in confessing his feelings.

His hand hit something hard, and it slid off the desk. It was just his cell phone. Who cares? Nobody needed to call him. He didn't need to call anyone, either. He just left it on the floor.

"Rory? Rory? Hello? Rory?" He heard Sam say over and over again. Sam was mad at him, because he hadn't done it yet.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm trying. I'm so scared. Oh my God I am so scared."

"Rory? Rory? What are you talking about?" Sam's voice echoed in his head. Sam was chiding him for being scared. Childish.

"Sam please, stay with me through this," Rory said, sobbing harder still. His head was screaming in pain as the migraine set in.

"Stay with you through what?" Sam asked quietly.

Rory sighed. "Sam stay with me while I… while I do this… While I end this…"

Rory dragged the blade across his arms several more times, horizontally. He knew he would bleed out very slowly that way, but 'Sam' had once before convinced him he deserved to suffer.

As he began to bleed, he started to mumble strange things, his head feeling light and his energy weakening.

"Blood. It's what keeps us alive. It _is_ life. It's everything. We need it to live. Without blood, we're dead. If I deserve to die, I need to get rid of the blood. If I lose the blood, I lose the life I don't deserve."

Rory mumbled more nonsensical things for what seemed like hours but was merely several minutes. He thought he still heard Sam calling his name, probably bitching because he was taking too long to die. But it was Sam who said he should drag it out and suffer so why was he calling his name out?

Maybe he _was _taking too long. He needed to speed it up, before anyone got home. Yes, that was it. He mumbled more, things that he had no idea what were coming out of his mouth.

_Sorry._

_Don't mean to._

_I hurt you._

_I deserve to die._

_I won't be missed._

_I'm doing the world a favor._

_One less mouth to feed._

_One less person to suck air._

_I won't be here to annoy or hurt anyone. _

_I can't humiliate people if I'm dead._

_If I'm dead. If I'm dead. If I'm dead._

The last phrase he said over and over again like a mantra as he brought the blade back to his arm, trembling and weak. So weak he could barely lift his arm. He knew he would now have to act quickly, because once he did this, he would go swiftly. He would drain fast.

Rory put the tip of the blade at his wrist, blinked away tears, and with one motion, dragged a jagged line up his arm to the elbow. Oh how it hurt so much worse than the other marks. It was so much deeper. So much messier – no straight lines but jagged. He felt a fire burning in his arm. A fire worse than anything he ever felt before. He had to hurry before he drained too much. No, it was too late, he already had. He couldn't lift his arm anymore. He couldn't move his arms at all. He felt numb. He felt light. He could actually feel the liquid flushing out of his body.

He was so weak and so faint that he didn't hear the noise of a door breaking open. His eyes were closed, so he couldn't sense the light that was turned on. He did feel something weird. It felt like a tugging. Like something was being pushed up against his body. He heard a ringing in his ears that had the strange sound of something familiar. It was Sam's voice. Sam. Sam had come to visit him one last time. Even in all of his fading away, his hallucination conjured itself up enough to make him think Sam was there with him.

He felt himself being tugged again, right into the floor. Strong arms were around him somehow, and he kept hearing Sam shouting his name and… was he crying? Why would Sam be crying? He was the one who insisted on this. It couldn't be the real Sam. He had no idea what was going on. No, it had to be the hallucination. At least his mind was lying to him. After all the lying he did, he deserved to be lied to as well.

Rory felt nothing. His body was far too weak now. He couldn't feel the blood draining down his arms, couldn't move. No, he could move. But just barely. His eyes. He could move his eyes. His eyelids. He opened his eyelids just enough to see something. It was a face. It was Sam. But… this wasn't 'Sam'. It didn't feel like him. It felt… with the tiniest bit of sensory he had left, something told him this was the real Sam, holding him in his last moments. That was what he really wanted right now. Not to die alone. He wanted to die, but he wanted to be with Sam. This way, he got both. He was dying, faster and faster, but he was in Sam's arms, so that made it all okay. He wouldn't hurt anymore. Neither of them would. Rory would be dead, his soul wherever it ended up – probably Hell, where he deserved to be for causing so much pain and despair. Sam would get up, cuss about his clothes being ruined. Maybe call the ambulance to come get the body up off the floor. Then he'd go home, have dinner with his family, finish his homework, and go to bed, waking up the next morning to go to school. He wouldn't think twice about Rory ever again.

If only Rory knew that those wee the biggest lies he had ever told himself, he might have made it. He might have found the will to keep it- no, even with all the will in the world, it was too late. He had lost too much blood. With every drop, he died more and more.

Rory could still see the watery image of Sam above him. He tried to speak to him. It was almost like trying to move a mountain, just to get the strength.

"Thank you," he managed softly. He could sense Sam was shouting something but he didn't know what. How did Sam get here again? How did he even know? Fuck, did the phone dial when it fell? Fuck. It did. But at least that meant he could have his last wish.

Rory drew the very last bit of everything inside him to utter one last phrase, the last words he would ever say before everything went dark. Before there was complete silence. Before there was just nothing. Nothing at all. Just emptiness. No sound. No sight. No _feeling._ Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing at all. Everything that was Rory was… nothing at all. Not anymore. Nothing at all.

Sam would never forget, would be haunted forever until his own death decades later, however, that the last words he heard from his friend before he died right there in his arms, were "I hoped… that it… would…. end… like-"

THE END


End file.
